Asked Out For a Rescue
by dawnbrightstars
Summary: Natasha gets a call from Clint and suspects that something isn't quite right. One-shot based off spn (season 2, episode 10) I don't own the characters (christmas?) A/N First time uploading a story so forgive me if this kinda explodes in my face.


"Hey Nat," Clint said tightly, and even through the bad phone connection Natasha could tell something was wrong.

"What's up?" she asked, looking around the busy street for a more private place to talk. Maria trailed behind her silently, probably as bored with their shopping trip as she was.

"I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner tonight." His voice was hesitant. That was her first clue. Normally when Clint asked her out he used his confident voice, the voice that had a half-smile in it that only she got to see. And that was when he even bothered to ask her. Most of the time he just caught her by surprise.

"Um, yeah, sure. Where?" She ducked into an ally and tried to keep a tab on her senses while still focusing on his voice. Something about it put her on edge.

"I was thinking like that time in Budapest," he said; her switch blade was in her hand and she was scanning the rooftops before he even finished his sentence. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Maria slide her hand to concealed gun at her waist. Clint continued, "How about we meet at 403 Esgurd Road at seven."

Natasha found herself nodding, even though she knew he couldn't see. "Yeah, see you then." And then the line went dead.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

"What's the word?" Maria asked, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

"Someone's got a gun on Agent Barton," Natasha ground out, checking all her weapons. Handgun, extra ammo, hunting knife (a gift from Clint; she never went anywhere without it), throwing disks. Maria raised an eyebrow at the sudden formalness.

"And you know this…"

"Budapest," Natasha said matter-of-factly, continuing to rummage through her handbag. She looked up at Maria's pointed silence. "It's the codeword when one of us is in trouble."

"So, got a plan?" Natasha rolled her eyes at her friend.

"I'm going after him."

"Well I knew that," Maria snorted. "What do you want me to do?" Natasha paused.

"Nothing," she said softly. Maria opened her mouth to argue but Natasha cut her off. "I owe Agent Barton my life. It is my debt to pay."

"Fine," Maria snapped, but her face was sympathetic. "Go save him."

And then she was gone, and Natasha loaded her gun.

…

Clint glared at his captor. "I will murder you," he snarled, despite the gun pointed at his chest. His wrists and ankles ached where they were tied to the chair. The man tisked.

"Watch it, Hawkeye." There was the unmistakable sound of the safety being clicked off. Clint gritted his teeth, hating knowing that Nat would be heading into danger- to save him- and he wouldn't be able to do anything. Still, he couldn't help but throw a few jibs.

"You have no idea what you're in for," he spat. In the semi-dark he could still make out the brilliant white of the man's teeth as he smiled evilly.

"I believe I do," he chuckled. "After all, I did help train her." Clint's eyes widened slightly in recognition. Natasha had spoken of him once, when she confessed her fears of joining SHIELD. The secrets she'd sold were finally catching up with her. "Revenge is a bitch," the man murmured, leaning in close so that Clint could see the spidery scar across his cheek, the type that came from being grazed by a bullet. Nat had done that when she broke with him, but the bastard was still alive. _Oh well,_ Clint thought. _Not for much longer._

"She isn't you're trained dog anymore," he muttered, trying to buy time.

"Oh, believe me, I know. I also know that you probably warned her and she's on her way here ready to fight. That's why I got these." He pulled a pack of explosives out of his bag. "Now be a good little bird and stay quiet. We don't want to ruin Natasha's surprise."

Clint's blood boiled. He fought against his restraints and let loose a stream of incredibly colorful vocabulary only to have a dirty rag jammed into his mouth. He watched hatefully as the man delicately unraveled the near-invisible tripwire. "Tick tock, Agent Barton," he sneered. "Better get ready for your date."

…

Natasha padded silently up to the run-down cabin. She had to give the mastermind credit. It wasn't unlike Clint to set up a picnic in an abandon house. Shit tended to hit the fan when they were in public. She slipped around the unhinged door, holding her gun at the ready. She took a step and then hesitated. Something was wrong. Carefully examining her surroundings, she dropped into a crouch. There. A sliver of moonlight was reflecting off the wood. But wood didn't reflect light. She took another cautious step and then it hit her. Tripwire. Smiling slightly, she backed out of the house and disappeared into the woods.

Maria answered her phone after a single ring.

"I have a job for you," Natasha said. After explaining her plan and hanging up, she shucked off her black leather jacket and combat boots. She hated to waste them, but she needed to make it convincing. She looked back at the house, the small smile on her face morphing into an evil and calculating grin.

…

The silence was unbearable. Clint closed his eyes, trying to make out her footsteps even though he knew it was impossible. He couldn't even hear his captor breathing. He found himself wishing for something, anything to let him know that she was there.

And then came the explosion.

"Natasha!" he screamed into the gag, but it came out as a distorted moan. He could sense his captor behind him, could imagine him disappearing through the door to see if his plan worked. He strained against the ropes until he felt them cut into his skin.

"Oh dear, looks like Agent Romanoff just completed her last mission," he sighed, dropping a piece of ragged leather at Clint's feet. He recognized the remnants of the red hourglass design and felt his gut twist. Glaring murderously, he let loose a stream of profanities, not stopping until the man pistol-whipped him so hard that his head slammed into the back of the chair. After he blinked away the black spots, the man was gone.

…

Natasha's heart clenched when she heard Clint's muffled scream, and then twisted in anger when she heard the blow. _Death,_ the violent voice in her head demanded. Not yet, she replied.

A shadow of a man stepped back into the bombed-out room, no doubt searching for other burned possessions. She took careful aim at his gun hand, hoping to disable him before she was discovered. There would be no swift death for him.

He spun at the sound of the gunshot and her shot flew wide. He fired a few of his own as she ducked behind an overturned table. She heard the sound of an empty gun and sprang into action, knocking the weapon from his hands and pushing him to the floor. She gasped when she recognized him. "You," she whispered, as fear turned her insides to ice. "You're from the Red Room."

"Hello, Nat," he grinned, and used her momentary surprise to flip their positions. Natasha struggled weakly, straining her neck to get away from his hot breath. "Looks like you're getting soft," he murmured, just before she jammed her knee between his legs and struck his face with her elbow. She drew her hunting knife, watching warily as he struggled to his feet and spat, "I see how it is." As they clashed in a flurry of blocks and punches, Natasha felt her confidence waning. He was bigger, stronger, and knew how she fought. A brief pain exploded in her gut as he scored a hit, but she pushed it away. _One blow,_ the voice told her_. One good blow to knock him out._

She dropped away, pretending that the cut across her abdomen had temporarily disabled her. She stumbled to the ground and shuffled back as if in fear as he advanced. He crouched beside her, wrenching the knife from her hand. Pressing his own blade against her throat, he pretended to examine her weapon with mild interest before tossing it aside. Her hand found what it was looking her, but she waited until he readied himself for the killing blow. Fast as a viper, the empty gun hit the side of his head with a sickening crack, and he dropped like a dead weight. She scrambled to her feet, looking down without pity at the man who controlled her for most of her life before Clint found her. With a hand pressed against her stomach, she limped towards the room where Clint was being held, pausing only to pick up her knife.

…

Clint went still as the silence was filled with uneven footsteps. He jumped slightly at the hand that landed on his shoulder but the relaxed when he recognized it as Natasha's. She crouched beside the chair and fumbled with the knots. As soon as he was free he gripped her arms and pulled her to her feet. He crushed her to him, reassuring himself that she was alive. He let her go when he heard her small intake of breath. Her hand came away from her stomach dark with blood.

His jaw clenched at the size and depth of the gash. Wordlessly, he slid the hunting knife from her belt and turned to the door through which his captor lay motionless. Natasha grabbed his arm, shaking her head.

"He's been dealt with," she promised, sliding her hand down his arm until her fingers were entangled in his. Clint's face softened and he brushed the hair away from her face.

"Then let's go."

She waited while he collected all the weapons he could find, including his own quiver and bow. Taking her hand again, they slipped from the silent cabin and started towards the woods. Just as they reached cover, a door slammed open and gunshots filled the night. They ducked behind a tree, Clint drawing an arrow and Natasha loading a gun.

"I thought you said he was dealt with," Clint muttered. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Wait for it."

In the silence between two blasts, Clint could make out the unmistakable sound of a tranquilizer gun being shot. He peeked out from behind the tree and relaxed when he recognized the body slumped on the dusty grass and the form of Agent Maria Hill prodding it with her gun. Natasha grinned at him.

"I figured SHIELD might like a few words with him," she shrugged casually. "Maybe if you ask nice they might let you sit in."

Clint smiled in return, sliding his hand under her hair and rubbing the back of her neck. "How about we get you cleaned up before our date tonight," he offered teasingly. Natasha elbowed him but nodded. "Dinner?" she asked. Clint nodded. "Just like Budapest."


End file.
